Tales of The Iron Banner
by Amberstar of Thunderclan
Summary: The war between Hunters and Warlocks? A thousand years vengeance sworn by Perun against Timur. Felwinter's first words to the Iron Lords? "No, I will not be your sherpa." How much convincing did it take for Gheleon to stop being alone and join them? A Lot. Was there a piece of Felwinter left when you fought him? One piece. It thanks you. These, and many other Iron Banner tales.
1. The Pink Incident

"TIIIMUUUUR!" an angry scream split through the air. A huntress stomped down the stairs, the earth quaking beneath her fury, and several Iron Lords backed off to allow her a clear path towards her intended victim. Though, of course, several of them snickered at her appearance.

Perun slammed her knife down on Timur's desk so hard, it entered the wood nearly up to the hilt. The newest Iron Lord looked up with lazy, half-open eyes from his large book.

"Careful honey; you'll scratch the mahogany." he told her casually.

"I'LL SCRATCH YOU!" she snarled. She pointed at her short, pixie-cut hair... which was now shockingly bright pink. "You will pay for this Lord Timur with every breath in your body for the next ten centuries so help me I will feed you to the Ahamkaras!"

Timur yawned. "Okay."

If humans could breath fire, he'd be nothing more than a smoking pile of ash. But, as it stood, humans could not breath fire, so Timur found himself disintegrating as Perun drew her Dusk Bow from the void and let a bolt loose into his body, right through the heart.

The Huntress stomped away, everyone still avoiding her, as Radegast and Jolder stuck their heads around the corner to see what was going on, just in time to see Timur being revived. He picked his book up casually, yawning again with a smirk on his face, and continued to read. Radegast shook his head, and Jolder looked at him pointedly.

"Told you he'd be trouble."

* * *

 **Bleh. So short. But hey; I did it, didn't I? And I couldn't think of any better way to introduce these guys. Plus, I wanted to wirte up some of the Warlock/Hunter rivalry in here. Because let's face it; the war between Brains and Frabjousness started at some point long ago; it might as well start here, with Perun swearing a thousand years vengeance on Timur.**

 **So, after the Twelve Days of RoI ended, you guys wanted more _Destiny_ from me. Specifically, a few of you asked for more Iron Lords. So, here we are. Don't expect too much. I'm no longer a writing jock, like Jayfeattheris Awesome has become. I've got _Rising_ , _Siblings_ , and a _Mass Effect_ one-shot to work on this month. Plus, there's an art contest for one of my favorite Wings of Fire artists, so...**

 **But, anyway, next chapter, we might meet Gheleon.**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	2. The Ruth Tale

Booming laughter filled the wooden halls.

"A-and then I said to the Warlord; well, I guess I should consider you _ruth_ less!" Jolder continued. Timur, quaking with laughter buried his face in his arms upon the table.

"And she had the card behind her back the whole time!" Saladin laughed, thumping his fellow Titan on the back. Skorri, who'd recently come to Old Chicago out of curiosity for the Iron Lords, couldn't stifle her giggles.

"That's so mean!" she laughed. "Poor Warlord, missing his Babe Ruth card because of mean old Jolder!"

"Hey! I'm not old!" the she-Titan protested. "Just because I was born several centuries ago, doesn't mean I'm a geezer!"

Silence.

Timur could contain himself no longer, and burst out laughing, as did the rest of them. The young Warlock fell off his perch. Radegast poked his head into the room, and grinned.

"Telling our guest the Babe Ruth Warlord tale?" he asked.

"What kind of welcoming committee would we be if we didn't?" Jolder chuckled, as their leader came into the room fully.

"Always a good tale. Skorri, may I have a word outside with you?" he asked. The laughter died down as Skorri left the table, though Timur was still snickering into his arms. Radegast led her outside, laughter still within her.

Skorri was a bit of a traveling hermit bard of sorts. She had all the powers of a Warlock, but she wore old, torn cloths, layers of cloth stitched and tied to her. Her blue face was dirty, but bright with laughter, and her messy light brown hair was done up in a ragged bun. She was, at second glance, painfully thin as well; she'd seen better days. Radegast had been more than happy to take her in, soaking and shivering in the rain on the doorstep of their base.

"Perun says she enjoyed your song in the mess hall. It was quite beautiful." he told her. Her smile broadened.

"Glad to hear it. I think I used to do it a lot, before I died. Entertain people, I mean. By singing." she said. "Not to say it's all I can do; I wouldn't have made it this far if I couldn't hold my own. The Fallen are... merciless."

"Indeed they are." he agreed with a nod as they walked. Rain pounded on the roof, the sound echoing as they entered a large, circular room; the main entrance of the Iron Lord's base of operations in Old Chicago. Out of here, they sent members of their small alliance across the world to where they were needed. They spent a majority of their time looking for new members or trying to expand of repair the base. Even now, they saw a young Hunter set a bucket down next to a couch, then sit down and continue to sharpen his knife as water dripped into the metal can.

There was a large hearth in the center of the room, a few recently arrived Iron Lords gathered around it. Wet cloaks of Hunters were hung on a long row of pegs near the large, wooden double doors. Skorri had been offered dry clothing upon her arrival, but had declined. Perhaps, with all these strangers, she was paranoid. Traveling on ones own in a hostile world tended to do that to a person; it was reasonable. Even now, she clung with strange paranoia to the sack slung over her back, the small lute with a broken string strapped to it as well.

"I daresay, you need a better base!" she exclaimed, eyes on the Hunter who had gotten the bucket. Radegast shook his head mournfully.

"There are, unfortunately, very few of us with a natural skill for building. There's one of the new guys, of course; Siimar, I believe his name was, who has some ideas, but something tells me this base will not work as a permanent residence." he said. H looked at her.

"You may be a traveling bard, Skorri. But aloneness if for the Hunters; not someone with a Warlock mindset and skill. And it doesn't look as if your travels have been to kind to you. I saw the way you ate tonight, as if this were the first time you've eaten in years. You claim to be able to fight, but look in a mirror, at yourself; how long would you be able to hold off the Fallen, in your current state. I will not force you to stay here, Skorri, but please consider it. You're skilled; any fool can see that. But every tree needs nurturing. I... would hate to see you wither." he told her, putting one hand on her shoulder. It was true; she'd displayed her skills for him to see earlier, and she was talented with solar energy, as if her Light could sing just as well as she could.

His hand on her shoulder... he could feel every bone, every joint through her cloths. _Even if she declines, we should offer her shelter a few nights; perhaps weeks, so long as she needs._ She wasn't a threat, or a Warlord. Just a traveling bard fallen on hard times. He could imagine, easily, her life; village to village, keeping her head low so the Warlords didn't notice another chosen in their borders. She would sing at a local tavern in exchange for food or shelter, and leave before the Warlords caught wind of her.

It was no life for someone with her skill; if she'd truly survived the Fallen on her own for as long as she had, she must either be very good at sneaking, or very good at fighting. The things she might be able to teach their Warlocks, if she decided to stay!

"I _do_ like it here..." she said slowly. "Lets say... I'll give it a few days. I'm seriously considering it, Lord Radegast."

He smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. You are good company, Skorri. I would look forwards to another one of your songs at dinner tomorrow. That is, if you're feeling up to it."

"More than up to it, sir." she told him, beaming.

"Very well. The guest quarters are this way, until you make a final decision." he waved an arm in the direction of one of the halls branching off from the main entryway.

"Guest quarters? You keep guests here sometimes?" she asked as they walked along.

"People like you." he nodded. "Who haven't decided yet. Sometimes we shelter traveling Hunters, or Warlords we're trying to convince to join us. Once, we kept an entire village in here, when this place was still being built; closest thing to shelter we could provide. It was early days, we were all off on another mission, and the Fallen attacked a nearby village while we were gone. Bretomart and Deidris did what they could, but by the time Ashraven and I returned, there was little we could do aside from help evacuate."

"How many of you are there? Right now?" she inquired as they made their down the hall.

"You've met Jolder, Timur, Saladin and I. There's Perun, Deidris, Bretomart, Ashraven. Silimar's around here somewhere, newly revived, head full of ideas. Titan, to his core. That Hunter you saw was Haakon, and I think one of those guys near the fire was Lady River, but I can't be sure. "he shrugged." I haven't memorized all their names quite yet; a daunting thing about leadership, the names. I suppose there are about twenty of us right now."

"Twenty!" Skorri gasped. "But this place- I was expecting at least fifty!"

"We hope to be that large someday; that's what all the extra space is for." he said grimly. He stopped at a door, and opened it for her. There was a bed neatly made for her, tantalizing and warm to someone who probably hadn't seen a bed in months. One door near the back led to a restroom(aka, a pot; plumming was an ongoing development), and rain pounded against the window heavily, as if trying to break the glass down and get at it's victims. The room was warm from the heat one of the resident Sunsingers had let off; he'd gotten frustrated with walking into every room cold, so he'd run through the whole place in a radiance-induced fit.

He had a feeling that "Weyloran the Living Heating Unit" was not going to go away any time soon.

"As you can see, here are the fresh robes you declined earlier." he said, waving a hand in the direction of the set laid out on her bed, along with something more casual. "Should you decide to wash, Lord Weyloran went on a... well, let's call it an OCD spree earlier this week; he put a map of the base out in the main entrance, for our convenience. The baths should be up near the right corner, and if you see him, don't ask him for directions; you'll get an hour-long lecture on the poor design of this place instead."

This earned a giggle from the Warlock. "And what does Lord Weyloran look like?"

"You'll know him when you see him. You'll be hearing whispers of 'heating unit' everywhere he goes."

"I was wondering what that was about!" she laughed. Radegast smiled at her.

"I truly hope you decide to stay, Skorri. Until then, farewell and goodnight." he told her, placing his hand on her shoulder once more before leaving. Skorri closed the door, back up against it. She looked around the room, and smiled.

"Goodnight, Lords of Iron." she whispered. "And... thank you."

* * *

 **Okay, here we are; Skorri, in all her glory! I always pictured her a traveling bard/warrior combo before joining up with the Iron Lords.**

 **And before you yell at me that this is not their correct base; Felwinter peak wasn't ALWAYS where they lived. There WAS a time before he was one of them. We only know that Radegast, Perun, Saladin, Jolder, Deidris, and Bretomart were the original six Iron lords, from Radegast's grimiore.**

 **It triggers my OCD that we now have all this new information about the Iron Wolves, but they don't have pages on the wiki.**

 **And YES, we will see some GheleonxSkorri action here. No need to worry. *rolls eyes* Tell me I didn't start an ultra popular ship with that one-shot? Tell me there isn't going to be wave upon wave of Ghelorri one-shot like some fandoms do, please? Oh dear, what HAVE I started?**

 **Okay, Ahamkara is just like Ood, got it; singular and plural.**

 **Hope you guys look forwards to the next chapter!**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	3. The Hunter Alone

It had been three months since she joined the Iron Lords.

She'd almost earned the status of "Lady". But this... this was her proving ground.

Skorri ran forwards, and slammed her fiery palm into the chest of a Vandal, sending him away in a flash of crimson fire. With her other hand, she underhand tossed a grenade towards a group of them, and didn't look at they were blasted into the air; she was too busy pulling out her weapon, turning in the opposite direction, and shooting at the Captain that had loomed up behind Lady Bretomart.

Their goal: get the refugees to safety. There was a canyon nearby where Takanome and her Rangers were holed up, and that was their destination. Once they reached the Rangers, the villagers would finally be safe for the Iron Lords to leave them; anyone who was anyone knew that no Fallen could escape the Ranger's searching sniper scopes. The final leg of the journey to the New City would be the smoothest, safest part. But until they reached that part, it was up to Skorri, Bretomart, Perun, and Saladin to defend them.

So far... they had lost three people. And Skorri refused to lose any more.

"Lady Perun, how many can you see on the west ridge?" she called out through her Ghost. Bretomart gave her a nod of thanks, and then charged at a group of Dregs with a rock-cracking battle cry, sending several of them to death with the mere force of her body in a move most likely taught to her by Jolder.

 **"There's a crew approaching, Saladin and I can't hold them for long; they've got a Baron with them! There are more Skiffs incoming, and I'm not sure how many shots Timur's new-fangled energy bazooka has left in it."** The huntress's voice replied. The last obstacle between them and the Takanome's was an old, wide stone bridge spanning the gap over the rapids of a large river who's name had been lost to time.

"Alright, Lady Bretomart and I'll finish up here and see what we can do to help." she told her friend.

The Skorri of three months ago was gone. No longer could the slightest gust of wind cause her to sway dangerously, no longer did the bite of hunger haunt her stomach constantly. No longer did she wear tattered cloths, and no longer was she paranoid of her possessions as she once had been. No longer did she travel and sing for her food and shelter.

Now, she sang in her home, for her friends, while enjoying a hearty meal nearly every day. Now, she wore pristine robes with ornate colors and wolves and trees, and she knew very well enough that her possessions were safe(well, mostly; Timur liked to hide people's things every now and then, he claimed it kept things "interesting"). Now, she knew there was a warm bed and safety waiting for her back in Old Chicago. Now... she was a warrior of the Light.

 **"Be careful. I still can't shake the feeling we're being watched; and I don't mean the Fallen."** The Hunter's words of warning came through the comms, as Bretomart snapped one last Vandal's neck before picking up her rifle again and joining Skorri. Perun had been complaining of this sense for the whole trip; roughly a week, and Perun's senses were rarely wrong.

"Got ya!" she responded to their leader, nodding to Bretomart and running in the direction of the bridge. This particular village had sent a call for help when the Fallen had begun to increase their activity in the west of their settlement borders. Personally, Skorri thought it was a miracle they had made it this far without an attack; there were no Warlords presiding over their borders, no known Chosen in the area. Perhaps there _was_ someone out there...

They made it to the top of the rise, and saw two Skiffs encroaching on Perun and Saladin's position. Saladin had as many people as could fit gathered within a Ward of Dawn, and Perun was at the turret of Timur's new energy weapon, mounted on a mutilated Sparrow chassis that had been armored. She fired, and one of the Skiff's hulls was ripped through. Saladin's Ward was flickering, about to give way. Those not in the Ward were backed against the trees behind it.

Skorri raised her pulse rifle, and began firing at the Fallen that were jumping out of the damaged Skiff with evacuation prejudice. Beside her, Bretomart's auto rifle filled their air with the song of flying bullets.

"Perun!" Skorri yelled. The Hunter gave a flick of her head below in acknowledgement. "There's to many of them! We have to get these people across the bridge!"

The only obstacle between them and the Rangers was a wide river whose name had been lost in time. Over arched a stone bridge, pockmarked with crumbing holes along it's length, crumbling holes eager to send people ten feet down to the rapids where watery death awaited. Once they were over the bridge, they would be in signal range to contact Takanome's men. They would be safe.

"The Ward is failing!" Bretomart informed, eyes locked on Saladin, who was now leaning on one of the villagers for support as he fought to keep the bubble up for as long as possible. It flickered and shrunk and grew and shrunk again and again as the Titan's light strained. _Saladin will hurt himself if he keeps that up much longer!_ She tapped her comms.

"Perun, tell Saladin to move when we give the signal! We'll give you guys cover, try to get everyone to the other side." she said. She saw the Nightstalker nod in acknowledgement, and Skorri looked at Bretomart.

"Ready?" she asked. The Titan cocked her gun.

"I was reborn ready." she said.

"Perun, now!" She shouted, running down the hill, pulling inside of herself for her inner fire. Warmth spread through her, drying her from the dampness of the rain, as fire sang around her. Perun drew her bow as the Ward collapsed, Saladin slumping to the ground. Three arrows sang through the air, each of them hitting their mark as the villagers ran for the bridge, two of them dragging Saladin between them.

The tethered foes were made short work of between Skorri's fire and Bretomart's gun. There came a point where she began to feel a heavy exhaustion tugging at the back of her mind. She bade her fire goodbye, not wanting to end up like Saladin. A chosen could only tap into their powers for so long before suffering the effects of Light over usage. Too much of anything was a bad thing; even the Light.

Drawing her gun, and backing up towards the bridge with Bretomart, they gave cover to the last of the villagers going across the bridge. Perun stood at the midway point, Dusk Bow still draw. _Oh, Perun; don't take a forth shot! We don't need you collapsing on a bridge, let alone this rickety old one._ She thought she could see lines of exhaustion on the Hunter's face, even from here; she needed a rest from using her light, her and Saladin both.

Skorri turned and ran truly as she reached the bridge. She needed to be facing forwards to watch for any holes she might step into. Timur's cannon had been left abandoned, but before she could point out that they probably shouldn't let the Fallen get their hands on it, Bretomart threw a grenade at it, destroying it.

"Timur's going to kill you for doing that!" she yelled playfully.

"Better I blow it up, than the Fallen reverse-engineer it." the Titan replied, facing the bridge with her. However, as they were running, another part of the bridge began to crumble.

A part directly beneath a small boy of about twelve. Skorri's heart lurched.

The woman near him, most like his mother, screamed as he was sent down towards the water. Forgetting that Awoken were not the most fantastic swimmers, Skorri leapt in after him.

Hitting the water was like hitting a sheet of ice. Instantly, the cold reached down to the marrow of her bones. It occurred to her that she probably should have let her Ghost out before diving; after a certain amount of time after a chosen died, Ghosts were automatically booted from their armor... no matter where they were. If Skorri drowned, her Ghost would come out underwater, and could be swept away and killed by the rapids before he had time to revive her.

She tried to swim none the less, eyes searching for the boy. Her head broke the surface for a brief, teasing second, before she was pulled back under again, the water spinning and tossing her so that she couldn't tell up from down. She thought she saw a shape in the water, and she grabbed it. _The child!_ Clinging to him, she fought for the surface, but the water kept toying with her. She was slammed against something hard, and she thought she felt something in her chest go _crack_. The breath was knocked out of her, and water rushed into her mouth before she was thrown to the surface.

She coughed, gasping, before being sucked back under again, liquid invading her mouth once more. It was all she could do not to suck it into her lungs as her vision began to go dark from lack of oxygen. Her chest burned with the effort, and just when she though her lungs might finally give out, she was spat out into the air once more. Gasping for breath, she kicked and tried to swim, still clinging to the boy, coughing and gasping for life. her head kept ducking under as she somehow maintained some sort of stability for a few seconds, before she was slammed into another boulder. She coughed, winded, and the water sucked her back beneath the surface. Awoken were not good swimmers. What was she thinking? Bretomart couldn't have done it... her armor would have made her sink like a stone...

The water slammed her against the bottom of the river with the force of a hammer, her lungs failing, vision starting to go dark. She kept her hold on the child. She couldn't let go... She couldn't let go... water rushing into her lungs, burning... everything fading around her...

An arm caught around her chest and yanked her to the surface.

Her lungs contracted, coughing, she felt water spill from her mouth. She could feel the young boy's sodden cloths still clutched in her left hand as she gasped and coughed, the person that had saved them dragging them onto the river bank, a branch of some sort catching on her robes and scraping her as she was pulled away from the water. Certain they were safe, Skorri let go of her death grip on the boy as she wretched, vomiting up river water.

"Is he chosen?" demanded a male voice. Her vision blurred, limbs shaking and unable to hold her up, she let herself fall onto her side, shaking her head. the man swore.

Through blurred vision, she made out his shape crouched near the child... who wasn't breathing. _No!_ The man took his helmet off, throwing it to the ground, placing his hands on the boy's chest, beginning to push up and down on it. She'd seen this before. She fought unconsciousness, fought against the mind-numbing freezing cold and exhaustion that threatened to take her away. She closed her fist weekly on a tuft of wet grass. She had to see this through.

The man breathed into the boy's mouth twice, then started pumping up and down on his chest again. He was... he was a Hunter! Or at least, he dressed like one. He had sandy blond, short-cropped hair, dark hazel eyes, and a fair, human, middle-aged face with a jagged scar, in all likelihood received before he was revived, running from just below and to the side of his left eye, all the way down to his jaw.

Skorri tried to lift her head, but it fell back to the ground, her eyes flickering. The exhaustion and bone-reaching cold was too much. She was so cold, she couldn't even feel her broken rib. _I failed._ Those were the only words in her fading mind right now. _I failed._ She heard a sound that was probably her Ghost materializing in preparation to revive her if need be. he made a few reassuring clinking and whirring noises, but it didn't make her feel any better.

She was snapped back into reality by sudden and struggled coughing and sputtering. She tried to open her eyes, only succeeding partially, and saw through blurred vision the Hunter helping the boy sit up as the child coughed up water. She felt relief trickle through her.

"Are you a Sunsinger?" the man demanded again. She barely heard him. Much like the river, she could no longer fight the currents that tried to submerge her mind. She thought she heard muffled footsteps as reality faded. She thought she maybe felt someone shaking her shoulder, but that was when everything went black.

* * *

There were voices. Muffled, but voices none the less. She was cold; the kind of bone-piercing cold that could kill you, but she couldn't gather the strength to shiver. She opened her eyes groggily, but blinked blearily as the glare of a fire filled her vision. She let out a low moan.

"Skorri?" came Perun's voice. Suddenly, the Nightstalker was at her side, looking worriedly down on her. She place a hand on her shoulder. Skorri looked around. She could see Saladin nearby, beneath several blankets, chest rising and falling as he went through a Light exhaustion-induced sleep. Bretomart was sitting near as well, sharpening a combat knife. There were a few villagers, and men and women in cloaks and Hunter-like garb. A few of them had sniper rifles, or other sharpshooter weapons. _Takanome's Rangers._ They were safe on the other side of the river.

 _Perhaps that was who he was; a Ranger._ Part of her believed it; but another part of her remembered her rescuer's armor being very different than that of the Ranger's.

"The child!" she gasped. Her voice caught in her throat, and she was sent into a fit of coughing. She could feel an illness stirring deep in her chest. She tried to remove the layer of blankets covering her, but Perun stopped her.

"He's fine. He'll be even better once Weyloran gets here. You and him both." She told her gently. Skorri relaxed, giving in to her body's screams for rest.

"What happened?" she rasped.

"Some Hunter came from downstream with you hung over his shoulder, kid at his side, all of you soaked to the bone. Gave you to us, then he he left. Even when we said he'd freeze to death out here; he said that was what Ghosts were for. We insisted he come back here and get dry, but he ignored us. Weyloran's got Haakon and Ashraven with him; they'll try to find him. Would've helped if he wasn't wearing a helmet; at least then we'd know what he looked like." She explained.

"I saw his face." Skorri managed. "He was.. blond... middle-aged... had a scar, on his... left cheek."

She ran a finger along the indicated spot on her own face. One of the villagers, an older man, dropped his tool, jaw dropping, shock written on his features.

"Did she just saw he had a scar on his cheek? His left cheek? the Hunter?" he demanded urgently, almost desperately, hastily coming up to them.

"Do you know him?" Bretomart asked.

"If I just heard her correctly, it... it sounds like..." he shook his head, looking down, voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "Sounds like it could have been Gheleon."

"Gheleon? Who is he?" Perun asked. Skorri fought to stay awake, tried to focus on his words. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Our village wasn't always friendly to chosen, you know. We'd heard tales of the Warlords. Brutal tales. We took every precaution to hide our village from them and the Fallen." Skorri remembered the villagers helping Saladin across the bridge, and wondered what had changed. "Anyway, one day, long time ago, this man stumbles out of the woods. Starved, in rags of armor. So weak he could barely walk. And he dies at the edge of the village, and then before anyone can do anything, poof- his Ghost revives him. And he's laying there gasping for all the world he'd never breathed before. A chosen. Naturally, we were terrified. Turned him out, everyone. Put him out on the street. Wanted nothing to do with him. Worst of the winter months, storms nearly constant."

His slumped shoulders betrayed his guilt, his shame. "At some point his Ghost decided he was better off waiting until spring to next revive his chosen. Left the body in the street, covered in snow. Eventually, Daisy found him. She always had a kind heart, Daisy. Guess she was so old she wasn't really afraid of anything anymore. Not even dying. Not even the chosen. So, she gets him out of the storm, has his Ghost revive him, shames us all and the like. She took him to her inn, a bit of a rarely used traveler's stop, mostly used as a shelter for whoever needed it. Anyway, she takes him in, tends him for the next couple of months."

"I think Daisy was the only personal attachment Gheleon ever made. At least, in our village. I don't know, maybe there were others. She was a tough old woman. But not tough enough. The sickness spread through us like a wildfire a few years after Gheleon came. She was only one among many who fell to it." he shook his head sadly. "That was the last time anyone saw Gheleon; at her funeral."

"And when was this?" Perun inquired.

"Twenty years ago." the man replied witheringly. Skorri blinked. _Twenty years? Has he been on his own all that time?_

"We always figured he might still be around though." the man continued. "Seeing as the Fallen didn't dare show their faces until roughly a month ago. And we found bodies sometimes, cut up like they'd had a run-in with him. When they started getting braver, and we called you guys, we figured maybe he'd died or moved on somewhere else. I suppose he really was still out there and maybe... maybe there were just too many for him to kill. That's why they got through, I guess."

Perun snapped her fingers, looking at Bretomart. "He must have been the one who was watching us! I bet my bow on it!"

"Maybe." the Titan pondered. _He's going to freeze to death so many times out there... he doesn't have Weyloran's fire to help him..._

She tried to reach inside herself, summon her fire, but she was too cold. Solar Light was known to have problems in extreme conditions. She shuttered, curling deeper into the warm blankets. There were many things a Ghost could fix; injury, death. But starvation, sickness, and temperature differences were things that no amount of revivals could cure, if it was too recent.

"Well, let's keep an eye out for him." Perun sighed, rubbing her forehead. She cast a look at Saladin's sleeping form. _I hope Gheleon makes it. Maybe when they find him, they'll convince him to join us. He must be awfully lonely out here..._

Skorri shut her eyes, giving in to the pull of sleep. She sighed peacefully. The child was safe, the Rangers were here, and she would be just fine.

The only thing that bothered her, was the brief image that flashed through her mind of a Hunter curled against a cave wall, half-dead and covered in ice and snow.

* * *

 **And then there was Gheleon. Ghelorri shippers, this one's for you.**

 **Huh. Well, she is a bard. Sunsinger seems right for her. Besides, it states Felwinter was the friendly neighborhood Voidwalker. And I know about wiki pages. I'm putting some of Jayfeatther's stuff on the Destiny Fanon wiki and... I haven't even gotten to Uldren yet. I've got most of Martin and Silverhawk, finished Della Tay. Mostly I'm doing it because there's a certain amount of satisfaction I get from making wiki pages. Like that satisfaction you get from peeling a cucumber or something(?). I pronounce it as gell-ori.**

 **You are welcome for this. And I know the Wolves and Iron lords are the same thing; the Wolves were a generation of Iron lords. Says so on the wiki. That's why they're here.**

 **Okay folks, we may be meeting Efrideet next chapter, and it's an eventgul one at that! Stay tuned!**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	4. The Youngest Lord

Silimar picked up the fruit and examined it. He wore thin robes wrapped around him, hiding his armor. The vendor looked at him nervously, and he offered him a reassuring smile. He reached beneath the robes, and pulled out a few coins, placing them on the counter.

"Keep the change; these fruits are amazing!" he told him, picking up another fruit and walking away to where Timur and Weyloran were waiting. He tossed one of the fruits to Timur, who bit into it happily. They, too were wearing robes, though not their usual Warlock sets. They were dressed as Silimar was.

This operation required them to be inconspicuous. The three of them stood in the shade between buildings, watching as several children played in the dusty, sandy street. Warlord Kariven. Vicious. Unforgiving. Striker Titan. Every month, he came to the village. He took what he wanted, killed anyone he deemed useless, and stole one of the children, never to be seen again. Silimar wondered which one of the kids he would go after.

They were kicking around a ball. One of them kicked towards a young woman of about seventeen, maybe eighteen, carrying a basket. She stopped the ball, set down the basket, and kicked it into the air, bouncing it on her knees a couple times before sending it back to it's owners, who giggled with delight.

"Cool, Efrideet!" one of the young boys exclaimed, beaming up at her, before running back to join his playmates, the young woman giving a small wave before picking up her basket again.

Suddenly, someone screamed. The woman's head snapped around, Timur, Weyloran, and Silimar looked up the way, to see five pikes zooming their way across the flat land, kicking up dust as they went.

"That's him. This is it." Silimar told his companions. Timur's hand cannon flashed beneath his robes as he pulled it out slightly. The young woman, seeing the approaching danger, dropped her basket, turned, and ran for a house nearby, slamming the door open and leaving it swinging on it's hinges. The children were shooed inside, terrified.

The pikes stopped. Silimar could tell where the best place to be when they attacked would be. _Five? This is going to be hard._ Good thing they had Ashraven and Jolder on standby. The Warlord and his men strode through the village, tossing citizens to get what they wanted. The large Titan with the shining, bald head was Kariven. His eyes found one of the children, the mother backed againsts a wall, hiding him. The Warlord strode forwards, the woman begged him not to.

Silimar grabbed the edges of his robes, ready to rip them off and go for the nearest handyman.

And then, a shot rang out.

"No!" a voice cried, gun pointed upwards. It was a warning shot. Soon the barrel was pointed in Kariven's direction. It was the young woman from earlier, a hand cannon in her hands. The sun shone on her auburn hair, making her ponytail look like a brand of fire. The freckles on her face accented her green eyes, alight with defiance. An elderly woman stepped forwards, looking horrified, as the Warlord turned to glare at whomever had defied him.

"Efrideet, stop." she begged. "Get back inside!"

"You stay away from them!" the young woman yelled, ignoring the older woman's pleas.

Suddenly, one of the men gave a shout, swiping at something as it flew out of it's hiding place. _A Ghost!_ The woman pointed her gun at it for a fraction of a second, but then snatched it out of the air, protecting it, pointing the barrel at the man who had tried to kill it. Warlords tended to kill Ghosts they found; they didn't want rivals being revived on their territory.

With one hand, she held the Ghost close to her chest, and with the other... she pulled the trigger. The offender dropped dead, his eye a bleeding hole, and she pointed the gun back at Kariven.

"I've seen you killing Ghosts. I've seen you killing people. Not one more is going to die because of you." she declared bravely, with all the guns of the other three normal men pointing at her. _Enough of this!_ Silimar started forwards, but Timur grabbed his arm. He looked at him, confused. The Warlock was staring at Efirdeet with stunned interest.

"Just... give it a while, Silimar. I want to see this." He said.

"Timur, she'll be killed!" Weyloran hissed. The Stormcaller held up a hand for silence. One of the villagers looked in their direction hopefully. They knew of the Iron Lords' plans, but not all of them. Efrideet must be one of the ones who didn't. Silimar clenched his fists, eyes locked on the brave teenager. She had moxy, he had to give her that.

"Really? Is that so?" Kariven threw the mother to the ground, and drew his gun.

Efrideet's arm was a blur. _Bang_ , _bang_ , _bang_ , _bang_ , _bang_ , **_bang_**. Five bodies slummed to the ground. The first shot, she killed Kariven. The second, third, fourth shots, she killed the rest of his men before they could react. The fifth shot, she killed Kariven's Ghost as it finished reviving him. The sixth shot, she killed Kariven for good. But the sixth shot wasn't louder than the others; it was a double shot. As The bullet entered Kariven's eye, another bullet went through Efrideet's mouth, bursting out the back of her head.

The elderly woman screamed and rushed forwards, and Weyloran pushed past Silimar. The Titan spun to face Timur.

"Are you happy now?" he yelled. "Has your curiosity been satisfied!?"

With that, he, too ran to the fallen teen, leaving the Warlock behind. The older woman cradled her, begging her to wake up. One of Weyloran's hands rested on her throat, the other on her head, the Sunsinger channeling his fire through to the wound, trying to heal her. His shoulders slumped and he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry." he murmured. The woman let out a racking sob, burying her face in the teen's shoulder, rocking her back and forth.

"What is wrong with you people!?" One of the villagers demanded of Silimar angrily. "You were supposed to stop this from happening!"

"Yes." Silimar said quietly, turning to glare at the approaching Timur. "We were."

" I think you should scan her." The Warlock said to the Ghost Efrideet had saved. The device glared at him.

"I think you should back off!" She whirred angrily. "Show a little sensitivity! This poor girl..."

"Yeah. Still think you should scan her though." Silimar shoved him away.

"She said _back off_ , Timur. You've done enough damage for one day without flouting respect for the dead." he snapped.

" _Buuut_ , what if she's chosen?" he reasoned in that annoying Timur way. "Wouldn't hurt any to try. And she could be an ally. She's got a nice aim."

Weyloran's glare could have melted suns. But the old woman looked hopeful.

"Try! Please!" she begged. "If you can bring her back... please..."

The Ghost let out a sigh, and Timur looked triumphant. Silimar reminded himself to punch him later. The shell of the Ghost parted, and a beam of light scanned the teen's cooling body. Suddenly, the Ghost made a surprised beeping sound.

"Impossible!" She exclaimed. Her shell expanded, and then closed with a sort of finality. Efrideet gasped, blinking in shock. Her eyes fixed on the woman, whose tears had turned into ones of joy.

"Grandma?" she asked weakly. The woman embraced her kin tightly. The rest of the village looked on in shock. All around them, the whispers echoed.

"Efrideet, a chosen? _Our_ Efrideet? Efrideet killed Kariven!"

"I... I don't believe it!" the Ghost exclaimed softly, excitement radiating in her voice. Efrideet looked up at her. "You- you're the one I've been looking for! All this time! All these weeks I've been here... I knew you were here somewhere!"

"Y-you mean...?" Efrideet started.

"I'm you're Ghost!" the tiny robot confirmed. Efrideet held out her hand, and the being floated down to rest in her palm. The teen grinned down at her new companion. She brought it in to share the hug of her grandmother.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed happily. "Just you see, we're going to do lots of things together! Awesome things!"

"Oh, there's no doubt about that." The grinning Timur agreed. Silimar glared at him and made a hand signal to shut up. Efrideet being chosen was a one in a million chance. The Warlock had risked an innocent life out of curiosity.

Radegast would here of this.

... and it wouldn't be the first time someone paid dearly because of Timur's insistence.

* * *

 **And then there was Efrideet. Stuck as a teenager. So remember kids, before you wish you could never grow up...**

 **And I personally think that, after all the death they endured to get to the replication chamber, it would have been more sensible not to press your luck any further when there were only nine of you left. I think, if he had lived, Timur would feel absolutely terrible about making it all happen. In a way, it was kind of his fault the Iron Lords died. He was too insistent, and didn't know when to quit.**

 **He couldn't tell when the cost outweighed the rewards, even when Colovance got killed, despite the fact those two were supposedly close friends. Just saying, a lot of things may have been different if Timur had weighed reason against desire.**

 **Anyway, let me know how you all liked Efrideet's backstory and all that. I'm posting a chapter now because I'm bored and a lot of reviewers seemed to have taken vacations. (seriously, Jayfeatther just posted the climax of her story a few days ago; only two reviews, when last week she was getting six per chapter)**

 **Seriously! It's like all the guests who usually review have taken a hike or something! Maybe there's a glitch? I dunno. Anyway, say how you liked Efrideet, I'ma go do something nerdy. Chao.**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	5. The Fever

The fever was devastating.

Weyloran tried to get him to drink, stroking his throat to try to trigger the swallow reflex, but the other Warlock simply coughed up the water weakly. Weyloran sighed, and soaked a rag in the cool liquid before pressing it to Timur's lips, hoping that at least a little of it would find it's way into his fever-racked body. The Stormcaller's hair was matted to his head, sweat glistened on his forehead, and he was could barely manage to breath. Weyloran stood up, looking around himself helplessly. Timur was the worst, but Perun was coming a close second.

He rushed to Skorri's side as she cried out deliriously. Nearby, Silimar was laying down, eyes closed, but panting as if he'd run a marathon. Ashraven watched him dully as she helped Deidris back to her bed; the Huntress, in her delirium, had developed a habit of wandering around when she was hallucinating. Ashraven looked worse for wear, and he could see signs that she, too, was coming down with this sickness.

He wondered how long it would be until he came down with it. He was starting to feel a slight burning sensation in the back of his throat. There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"River-12. Radegast's just cleared me to come in. Thought you could use some more help. Can't be healthy, you and Ash doing all the work on your own." came the feminine response.

"Come in." he called tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was right; he didn't feel healthy. He wondered if it was the fever, or the fact he hadn't slept in three days?

It had started with Timur. 'Just a cough', he'd called it. 'A tickle, nothing more.'

Then Perun had come in his room the next morning to get him up for a mission, and had found him on the floor, covered in sweat, with a raging temperature of a hundred and two. He'd been put back in bed, and Skorri had tended to him while Perun took Deidris instead. That had been, now, almost a week and a half ago.

River came in, holding the door open with her foot, and closing it the same. She had several supplies in her arms.

"Finally." Weyloran exclaimed dryly, spreading his arms to indicate his suffering friends. "They send me someone who can't get sick!"

Timur let out a frightful rasp, and he spun, standing, and rushed to his side. He pressed his hand on the Warlock's chest, channeling his fire. Oh, if there was one thing he could wish for right now and have come true, it was that Sunsinger fire could cure sickness! He put all he could into trying to help the Stormcaller breath easier, but it was all for naught. Timur's struggles ceased, and his heart stopped. Weyloran looked sadly up at his Ghost.

Shell drooping with despair, he revived his chosen. If things got too bad, they may come to leaving Timur dead until his body decayed naturally. Then, when his Ghost next revived him, he wouldn't be sick anymore. That... could take months. Perhaps years.

Weyloran hoped it wouldn't come to that. He didn't think his Ghost would be able to take that.

* * *

A small fist knocked on the doors to the Iron Lord's base. She took a deep, nervous breath. She'd been waiting three years to do this. She'd trained tirelessly; she would be an Iron Lord, if it killed her. Which was alright, because she could die as much as she wanted(it unsettled her grandmother when she pointed this out, though). She heard locks being undone, and she took a deep breath, excitement bursting through her chest.

She opened her mouth, ready to speak, as the doors were opened. But her voice died in her throat at the sight of the face that greeted her.

It was a Titan. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well, and he looked sad. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair messy, and his face was slightly dirty.

"What is it you want?" he asked. She lifted her hand, and let her Ghost out.

"I want to be an Iron Lord." she told him simply, hopefully. He looked her up and down.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Technically, I'm twenty." she chirped. "But my Ghost revived me first when I was seventeen. It would have been really good to know I wouldn't age, because then my Grandmother wouldn't insist on me 'growing up' before I came here."

He shook his head tiredly. "Come back later. In the spring."

She reached out a hand, stopping him from closing the door. "Oh, no you don't, mister! Do you have any idea how much trouble I went through to find this place? For such a big group, you're certainly hard to find. I've done my waiting. Three years of it. I'm _ready_."

"And I'm not asking." he growled, suddenly hostile, before his features drooped once more. "We've... been ill of health lately. Come back in the spring. By then, the sickness will have passed."

"What kind of sickness?" she inquired, still holding the door open. He glared at her in a half-hearted kind of way.

"Fever, weakness, coughing. To my knowledge, Lord Timur keeps dying, and he isn't getting any better." the Titan explained. "This illness is deep in their lungs. We've tried everything, and Lord Weyloran is working himself to the breaking point trying to keep everyone alive."

Efrideet tipped her head, thinking. "I've heard of that before. I got it once, when I was ten. The whole village was sick. Marina came up with a really good remedy though, and we were all better in days."

His head snapped around in her direction from where he'd been staring blankly at the floor. Hope kindled in his gaze.

"A cure? Do you remember how to make it?" he asked hopefully.

"I was ten and delirious." she told him dryly. "I could go back to the village and ask Marina, though."

He opened the door fully, ushering her in before shutting it. She grinned at her Ghost. She wasn't even accepted yet, and she was already doing good! _Maybe this is a good sign? That I'll do well here?_

"Haakon!" the Titan called in a booming voice, sounding excited. "Bretomart!"

The sounds of pounding footsteps and squabbling.

"Git 'yer fat armor outta my way!"

"Get your freaking cloak off the stairs!"

It ended with a loud crashing, and a Hunter and a Titan falling to a stop at the bottom of the stairs in a tangle of limbs. The Hunter came out on top, nose to nose with the female Titan. He grinned.

"Hello." he said smoothly. She shoved him off of her violently with a sound of disgust. He jumped to attention, looking at the summoner eagerly while his companion picked herself up, brushing her armor off angrily.

"As I've said before, dear Radesgast; one must simply call, and I shall simply fall... right into your lap." he added, looking at the female Titan flirtatiously. She glared daggers at him, and Efrideet giggled.

"Haakon, Bretomart, take one of the ships, listen to... what's you name?" Radegast asked her.

"Oh, Efrideet." she replied.

"Listen to Efrideet's instructions; she knows of a cure to the fever." at this both of their heads perked up, hope beaming on their faces. "Ready one of the ships, get there as soon as possible."

"Right!" Bretomart agreed, rushing out of the room, while Haakon did a bit of a mini salute before casting Efrideet a sly look. Radegast gave him a look.

"Don't even think about it, Haakon. You can flirt with the new blood later; get that cure!"

* * *

It took almost a week of brutal but effective force feeding techniques on Weyloran's part, and several more deaths, before Timur started to show signs of recovering, in that he could finally swallow without help. Perun was treated similarly, as she was nearly as bad as the Warlock was, but everyone else was feeling better, as Efrideet had promised, in days.

The cloths they'd worn while they were sick were burned, and several very tired but happy-to-be-cured Iron Lords returned to their normal lives.

At some point a week and a half after Efrideet's arrival, Timur was quietly moved back to his own room, and Perun was back on her feet, albeit needing some time to recover. Efrideet couldn't be prouder-looking at having been able to help, and Marina was given special thanks for her services. She was sent home with a large load of supplies that the village had been scarce of, and a moonstone bracelet from Jolder as thanks.

At first, nobody noticed the nearly skeletal figure that came into the mess hall a few weeks after the cure had been administered. But everyone knew and noticed when Skorri ran into Timur full-force with an embrace that nearly knocked the half-starved Warlock over. But he hugged her back all the same, and pretty soon, he was staggering under the weight of the group hug surrounding him.

Happier than all of them, though, was the young Huntress who sat sharpening her knife in a room within the base she could proudly call her own.

* * *

 **Bash Timur; check.**

 **Make you feel sorry for Timur; check.**

 **Bash Timur some more; ... ongoing operation.**

 **I got the Mantle of Gheleon today, and it just SO completes my look with the Dawncaller and Celestes shaders. But yeah, there is definitely going to be some Timur guilt-feels when we finally get around to SIVA killing everybody. Also, look up Destiny: Rise of Iron Parody song (Sound of silence), by Ravens of the Realm. It is golden. Blazing. Frabjous. A must-see.**

 **Read and REVEIW!**


	6. The Hunter Scorned

A man stumbled out of the woods.

It was the worst of the winter months, the entire village and the pines woods that surrounded it covered in snow. It took the few villagers outside at the moment a while to notice the new presence, and when the first of them did, a frightful scream split the air. He was dreadfully thin; as in, he should be dead. Even if hunger weren't the problem, the tattered, thin armor covering his person offered no protection against the deadly cold. He should have been frozen to death.

He was skeletal, dirty, stumbling. He collapsed in the snow, eyes rolling into the back of his head, before he could even reach the street. A few villagers started forwards with horror, intending to help the poor man.

And then the Ghost materialized above him, shell parting. The man let out a dreadful gasp for life, like one recovering from drowning. Shocked and terrified gasps were drawn from the witnesses, and they all backed off in fear and scorn as he pulled himself shakily to his feet, stumbling as he did so. He stood shaking violently, and looked up at the villagers pleadingly.

He found no sympathy in the snow-covered village. Only spite, for the chosen. Only fear of him, of what he could do. He only wanted food and rest. He only needed a little clean water to drink. Were those things too much to ask for? Not even a blanket to put over his shoulders? He was thrown out of the local tavern almost as soon as he stepped into it. Literally; they threw him into the snow outside, violently, and he lay there for several moments before raising his head, only to receive a kick to the gut.

"You're not wanted here! Go back the pit you crawled out from, _chosen_!" the warm, coat-wearing villager spat at him as he curled in on himself in pain. A whimper escaped his lips as he was dragged by the back of his collar through the snow, and tossed out further onto the street, into the full-blown blizzard. Men and women were taking shelter. The man left him there, to be covered in snow, buried by the storm.

His Ghost materialized, next to his head.

"I'll revive you when the storm is over, okay? Or would you like for me to wait until spring, when it's warmer out?" he asked. Gheleon managed a weak nod as reality faded from him once more.

Meanwhile, Daisy was sheltering in the tavern. All her old blankets were wearing rather thin, so she'd gone out to buy some new ones. She'd only gotten the one, and she'd wrapped it around her shoulders as the storm worsened, before relenting and heading inside, her old bones unable to take much more of the punishment.

She sat by a hearth, drinking a hot cup of tea, her blanket and winter robes laid out on the back of the chair she was sitting in. She closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth. Now, she may be old, but Daisy was a worrier. She worried for everyone in the village; no-one could hide anything from Daisy. If there was a problem, she sniffed it out. Her hearing was sharp, allowing for many 'accidental' eavesdropping. And what she heard that day would changer the rest of her life.

"...true the chosen tried to come in her?" ne man was saying. Daisy's brow raised. _A chosen? Here in our village?_

"Yup." came the angry growl of the tavern's manager. "Tried to saunter in here like he owned the place, acting all pathetic and pitiful. Ha! As if he needs shelter. It's not like he can actually die out there, eh?"

"I totally agree!" the other man said, as she sat bolt upright in horror. "Leave the shelter for the rest of us!"

She flew to her feet, swinging her robes and blanket on with feverish ferocity.

"What's gotten under yer skin, Daisy?" the manager asked as she stormed past him urgently. She whirled on him.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" she snarled furiously. "Turning someone out on the street in the middle of a blizzard! You make me _sick_!"

With that, she ran out of the building and into the gale, leaving them speechless. Her eyes searched the street desperately. She ran out farther, looking around wildly, and her gaze found a thin, pitiful hand sticking partially out of a pile of snow. She rushed forwards, and pushed the snow off of the man, uncovering him. He was skeletal, middle-aged, perhaps, with a scar of his left cheek. A small, polyhedral form was pressing itself against his neck. _A Ghost!_ She'd conversed with one before; a rather pleasant little thing, he was, too.

She bent down over him, trying to shield the starved chosen from the wind. She took the blanket off from around her shoulders and lifted him slightly to wrap it around him. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to warm him up, before realizing she couldn't feel his heartbeat.

"Revive him!" she yelled to the Ghost, who was watching her with astonishment. When it didn't respond, she called above the wind again. "Revive him, right now!"

She couldn't possibly hope to carry him to her inn, not even in the lightweight, starved state he was in. He had to get up and walk with her, no matter how torturous the journey. The Ghost, struggling against the wind, parted his shell, pulsing with light, and then closed himself again, pressing against her for shelter as the chosen gasped. His eyes flickered open, revealing them to be a dark hazel color.

"That's it then." she told him gently. "Just take deep breaths, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to walk."

Slowly, she began to rise. His feet slipped in the snow, legs shaking with the effort of standing as she helped him up. She could feel every bone in his body through the blanket and rag armor he wore. Through the storm, they staggered together towards the general direction of her inn. She couldn't feel her hands by the time they got there, and visibility was near zero.

She jerked the door open, and led him inside before kicking it shut behind her. Her fireplace was still roaring, the only light in the entry room. Her inn was a rather cozy place, she liked to think. Wood and stone was what it was made of. Thick rugs on the floors, several couches and chairs close to the fire. Everyone, at this time of night, was snuggling into bed to escape the cold of the storm, so the entry room was empty.

She practically dragged him over to one of the couches, and took the wet blanket off of him as his legs gave out from under him. She held him up with one arm wrapped around his chest, and eased him onto the couch, pushing his legs up onto it last. Shivering, she checked his breathing. It was slow, and faint. The fact his Ghost could revive him didn't take away and of the distress the sight of him caused. He looked like he might have been wandering the wilds for weeks, perhaps months.

She hastily gathered several blankets and wrapped them over him. _He's going to need a few good meals as well._ She was hungry anyway. She put some soup on in the pot over the fire, taking off her winter cloths and wrapping a blanket over her shoulders. She looked back over at the chosen. He was still breathing, and his Ghost hovered close near one shoulder, watching her.

"Why would you help us?" the little machine asked. Daisy blinked in surprise.

"Why wouldn't I? I could never watch a man suffer like that and leave them. The people of this village are afraid of the chosen, yes. We've heard such terrible tales... but what harm can a starving man do? I'm too old to care about being afraid; I'll be dead soon anyway. Besides; while these people remember all the horror stories, they forget the heroic stories that come along with them." she explained. She got up, and walked over to kneel in front of the couch, holding out her hand. The Ghost floated up against her palm, shell cold as ice, looking up at her. "The actions of a few do not speak for a people as a whole."

No words were truer spoken.

* * *

 **A little Gheleon something taking place in the past.**

 **In this fic, Guardians can be brought back from the dead, but sickness, starvation, and temperature differences cannot be 'cured' through revival. That's just a little _too_ OP; the Iron Lords are just as likely to get the sniffles as the next guy.**

 **Yup, not all these one-shots will be linear. I'm thinking in a few chapters you might see my own version of Efrideet and Saladin's reunion, or maybe what happened after the scene in the game cut. What was given to us felt... unsatisfying to me. I think it should have been a lot more emotional than what we saw.**

 **Anyway, I updated Siblings to celebrate Fantastic Beasts coming out in Britain today! Jayfeatther and I are going out with some friends to see it on Friday, it's going to be wicked!**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	7. The Thinker

"Come now, keep flying!" Timur urged. The ground was blasted dangerously close to him, and he felt adrenaline rush through him. This _is the way to live!_

"What do you _think_ I'm doing!?" the chosenless Ghost zooming at his side yelled back, weaving to avoid a wire rifle shot.

"Talking!" he answered. He vaulted over a fallen log as the Fallen continued to shoot at them, and he crouched down behind it for cover.

"This is the place, right?" he asked. The Ghost scanned the ground at his feet.

"Yes! They're here!" he was helping her find her chosen. She'd been out here in the wilds, the Fallen closing in, a new chosen just a mile away, no other Iron Lords around for days of walking... it was an adventure Timur simply could not resist.

"Wake them up quick! Newton, you say there's an abandoned factory somewhere around here?" he asked out loud. His own Ghost materialized in front of him, flinching as a rifle shot clipped the log and hit the ground behind them.

"Yes! I can't tell what it made, but it's definitely a factory; just north of here!" he confirmed as the other Ghost revived her chosen for the first time. Timur watched in fascination, his hand cannon still held up. First time revivals were always interesting. A skeleton was visible briefly before flesh surged out of it, engulfing the carcass, skin forming, and light clothes covering them, all of this happening in the space of a few seconds.

The young man gasped, heaving for air, gray-green eyes flying open. He was young, though looked to be a few years older than Efrideet had been. His hair was messy and blond, and his skin had a tan to it that could point to him having spent a majority of his life someplace sunny.

"Hello there!" Timur chirped, cutting the Ghost off before she could speak; odd, of course, because usually the Ghost was the first thing a chosen heard. Timur shook his hand feverishly. "I'm terribly sorry to drop this on you now, but we have to run for our lives, I'm afraid."

The young man gawked, mouth opening and closing soundlessly in astonishment.

"Now, we don't have time for the long version of things." Timur said as more fallen bullet fire rained down on their cover. "So I'll give you the short version; the most likely thing you last remember is dying, and yes, you were dead, your Ghost revived you and unlocked your true powers so that you can protect humanity from the four-armed, bug-eyed alien that are currently trying to kill us-"

He stood up, and shot the head off a Fallen.

"-among other things."

If anything, he looked overwhelmed, as in he might have a panic attack. "I... I was... dead...?"

"Yes. Now suck it up and start running." Timur pulled the young man to his feet, and ran away into the woods, dragging the newly-revived chosen along with him. The chosen's Ghost flew along after them, trying to explain and reassure her new partner, glaring at Timur for his lack of sympathy.

Soon, they reached the abandoned facility.

"Now, here's how we're going to do this. Those Fallen, will come in after us, and we're going to put our heads together to come up with an incredibly clever plan to kill over fifty enemy fighters in less than the three allotted minutes we have until they reach this place in full force. Suggestions?" Timur asked. The young man was still gawking at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, bewilderment and panic etched into his features.

"Alright; we'll do this my way then! Chop, chop, and do as I say!"

* * *

A few minutes later, and the Fallen forced their way into the abandoned building. The Lights were here, the Fallen all knew. The Captain at their head swiveled his head from side to side, seeking out the chosen, trying to pick up their scent. His eyes widened right before a heavy canister slammed into him, sending him flying into the wall at the far end of the facility with several of his men as the heavy object swung down from the second floor.

"SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Timur yelled as cheerily and loudly as he could, before taking out his hand cannon with a twirl. Taking aim, he shot the canister as it sung low near the Fallen again, and the whole thing exploded.

Unfortunately, he'd miscalculated the yield of the container, and on the second floor, he was sent flying over the railing and into the wall, before falling down to the first floor with a sickening crunch. The new chosen, meanwhile had hid behind an electric console, and his eyes widened in horror as the Iron Lord was struck down. Remaining Fallen poured through the door, which had turned into rather large, gaping hole in the wall. Their eyes found Timur, and his Ghost disappeared before they could shoot it, the tiny robot zooming away to hide, and unable to revive it's chosen.

The newly revived chosen had only seconds to think, and even less time to act. He saw something that could be used. Bracing himself, he ran across the rusted, breaking catwalk, and backed up as far as he could before taking a running leap to latch onto the hook of a derelict crane. He slammed the chain near the base of the dangling piece with his fist as he did so, breaking the rust and sending the hook crashing down as his forewords momentum sent it swinging rapidly towards the Fallen.

He stuck his legs out as he neared the ground, pain running up his legs as he struck several Fallen down, sending them skidding across the ground, either dead or otherwise incapacitated. He jumped off, rolling on the ground painfully, before looking up to see three Fallen looming over him. Instinct made something inside him rise, bristle at the sight of them, and he scrambled to his feet, rolling first to dodge the bolt of arc shots aimed at his head. He threw his hand out, striking the nearest one in the chest with his palm, _something_ channeling along his arm and out as he did so, killing the creature and sending it flying away with a squeal of agony.

Another Fallen leapt on him, and he reacted too slowly. Two loud bangs rendered the two remaining Fallen headless, and he shoved the body off of him, scrambling away from it, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping through him, panting. He looked with shocked, wide eyes at Timur, who was now standing, alive, again, gun smoking. he seemed to bound up to the young man like an excited rabbit, grin so broad it could have cracked his face, pulling him to his feet while talking excitedly.

"Excellent! Bravo! You my friend are a thinker! A thinker, indeed! A fellow Warlock if ever there was one!" he hadn't the faintest idea what a 'Warlock' was, but the term sounded... right, somehow. Made him feel like he might belong to something in this strange, unusual, dangerous world that he'd only known for about... fifteen minutes.

"Now, what's you name lad? I'll tell you everything on the way back to home!" Timur asked eccentrically. He stuttered. Did he have a name? There was a name on his lips, a banished memory, just a filament, a fog, but it was there, and it was all there was.

"C-Colovance." he answered. Was it his name? He had no idea. But it belonged to him, as did that broad, over-excited smile of the man in front of him. As did the Lignt and all its cures and wonders, as did brotherhood and companionship that he did not yet know, as did the promise of a thousand grief's to come, some from the broad, over-excited smile of the man in front of him. As did life, again.

As did a vow beneath an Ironwood Tree.

* * *

 **Please, don't murder me for taking so long. I am SO SORRY! I got distracted by something shiny, then I started playing Mass Effect, and everything escalated quickly from there. I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN THIS SERIES! I promise, I'll write some more over the course of this month.**

 **I'm glad people still like this, and FusRoDerp, I just NEED to say, I love your username. It's pure genius.**

 **We might be meeting Felwinter in the next chapter or two... I hope you guys liked Colovance's background story, here.**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


	8. The Forklift

Snow swirled around the mountain, pines creaking in the wind, the dunes and seas of white flakes unbroken.

But not for long.

"YEEEEEEHAAAAA!" Haakon screamed and he landed the 360 on his Sparrow.

"Show-off!" Bretomart called as she stuck a normal landing. Colovance said nothing as he came in behind them, too concentrated to worry about the banter.

Haakon briefly twisted on his Sparrow to make a kissy face at her, spurring the Titan on angrily. Together, the three of them zoomed through the snowy, rocky terrain, white powder sent up in flurries in their wakes, along with partially melted trails left behind by their thrusters.

The steaks were high for this one.

If Haakon won... he got to kiss Bretomart. The Titan could not afford to let him stay in the lead, and they were nearing the end of the loop... with Haakon far ahead. Colovace was just along because the Hunter was convinced he didn't have a drop of racing blood in him, and the Warlock wanted to prove otherwise.

"Colovance, Nova Bomb him!"Bretomart screamed as they neared a corner.

"I'm not sinking to his level! And Felwinter would kill me if I caused an avalanche by accident!" the Warlock called back.

"Technically speaking, it's not his mountain anymore!" she argued.

Meanwhile, still in the lead, Haakon looked back and chuckled at the bickering twosome, before turning his gaze back on the track and pushing his Sparrow harder.

But he hadn't looked in time.

He screamed, throwing his arms up to protect himself as the pile of rust loomed in front of him. His Sparrow hit it, and he was bucked off, sent flying over the front at breakneck speed. He screamed as he flew through the air, and hit the ground hard enough that his spine snapped and several ribs snapped on impact and his body hit the snow.

Colovance and Bretomart, alerted by the Hunter's screams, looked in time to spot the Sparrow hung up on a rusty old forklift, and both swerved, Bretomart swearing, narrowly avoiding the same fate as Haakon.

"See ya, lover boy!" She yelled at the pile of snow that was Haakon as her and Colovance drove away. Haakon coughed, vision blurred as his Ghost came into focuse, hovering just over his face.

"You really blew that one, Haakon. Call it karma." he commented. The Hunter groaned.

"Just fix me up, While E." he rasped. When the Hunter got back on his feet one Ghost fix-up later, he glared at the forklift as he approached to re-claim his Sparrow. _How in the world can it be so solidly glued to the ground?_ He dug at the snow built up around it, and found that the forklift had indeed, been melted at the bottom to become one with the rock beneath it. There were faded scorch blasts from long ago faded onto the rusted metal, and he supposed some sort of Weapon must have done this during the collapse. He had, in fact, found similar markings all around the remaining infrastructure around the area.

Perhaps he would ask Felwinter about it.

He removed his Sparrow from the forklift, and walked the damaged vehicle back to where they had agreed for the finish line to be. He found Bretomart and Colovance leaning against a boulder next to their Sparrows, on the other side of the line they had drawn in the snow to signify the start/finish. They both grinned broadly at him, Bretomart looking particularly triumphant.

"You really dropped the ball on that one." Bretomart chuckled. He glared at her.

"Yes, yes, I get it. I lost." he said through grit teeth.

"You know, you never did say what Bretomart got if she won." Colovance suddenly pointed out. _Thrall spit! I was hoping they'd forget about that._

"Well..." Bretomart suddenly turned red. "There is... maybe one thing."

Colovance grinned evilly at the Hunter. "Lets stuff snow down his armor."

His grin vanished and his face paled with shock as Bretomart suddenly gripped the Warlock and kissed him. Haakon made a sort of strangled squeaking noise, jaw dropping just as his helmet fell from his hands. _No... way..._

Colovance looked just as shocked as the Titan broke away both of them red as cherries.

"S-s-seriously?" the Warlock managed to stutter.

"Y-yeah." Bretomart admitted. "What can I say? I'm a sucker for brainiacs."

"I-I guess I can't disagree much either." he took her hand, and they both smiled at each other. "Maybe... we could go figure it out at that village in old Texas? They got a killer view and a population of Fallen that needs cleaning out."

"Yeah. That sound good, Vance." She let her Ghost out, as did Colovance, and very quickly, both Iron Lords and their Sparrows were gone. Haakon remained where he was, staring. Jaw still agape, he sat down on the ground, and ran a hand through his hair.

"What just happened?" he asked out loud. While E. materialized beside him.

"I think they just found true love." he commented. "Ashraven is going to flip; remember when Lord Winston married Lady Adel? You wouldn't think it looking at her, but she _really_ loves to party..."

"Yeah..." he said faintly. He layed down.

"What are you doing?"

"Processing the fact that the girl I've been flirting with for nearly a century just ran off with the new kid."

"Colovance has been with us for three decades."

"He's still a baby!"

"Haakon, he can rip you skull apart with space magic just by looking at you. And Timur has him on the new, advanced arc techniques, too. He'll be a Stormcaller by the end of the week."

"How did it come to this, While E.?"

"If you really liked her that much, maybe you should have stopped with the flirting and expressed your true feelings a lot sooner."

He flung a handful of snow up at the Ghost in response.

* * *

 **And without further ado, we have the forklift's first victim.**

 **Because let's face it; we've all hit that stupid thing. For those of you who don't have RoI yet, basically, there's an indestructible forklift on the Haakon's Precipice Sparrow track, and it's RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRACK, RIGHT after coming around a corner, so nearly fifty percent of first place losses on that track are attributed to the forklift we've all come to love and hate.**

 **I was going to post the Felwinter one-shot next, but then Sparrow Racing came and I experienced the forklift and... well, now we're here. But next time is Felwinter for sure.**

 **Without further ado, read and REVIEW!**


	9. The Sherpa

"So... run it by us again." Efrideet groaned as Saladin requested this action. The Iron Lord in training dragged her feet, drooping.

"I've done it a million times, Lord Saladin! I've lost count of how many times you've had me recite his file!" She whined. Skorri looked back at their young companion. The Warlock had her arms crossed, robes wrapped around her, shivering slightly. Skorri always did hate the cold.

"This could be either a new ally, or a new enemy. Memorize him." she reasoned with the Hunter, who scowled at her.

"Easy for you to say! You're a Warlock!" she protested as Saladin attempted to make his way over a large boulder. His foot slipped, and Skorri steadied him.

"You know, Sal, it would probably easier for you to climb a mountain if you took all that heavy plating off." she reasoned, ignoring Efrideet's protests, having to yell because of the wind that raged around them. To top it off, it was beginning to snow, and would soon be a full-out blizzard. The Titan grunted in response.

"That would be like asking Timur not to drown himself in coffee every morning; it's not going to happen, Skorri." he replied. "Efrideet! The file."

The Huntress let out a groan as he finished climbing the boulder, leaning down to help Skorri up.

"Warlord Felwinter-03, revival date unknown, age unknown, Warlock of the Voidwalker specialization, prefers to keep to himself, he's the only Warlord we know of who's owned a mountain, and if you ask my opinion, he's downright insane and we should reconsider any alliance with him because damn shanks this place is cold! Who would want to live here! He's crazy!"

"You say all Warlocks are crazy." Saladin rolled his eyes as he reached down to help her up. She gripped him by the wrist, and he pulled her on top of the boulder. "If we succeed in convincing Warlord Felwinter to join us, this mountain could serve as an ideal base of operations for us. Most Fallen activity is here in Russia for some reason. That little place of ours in Old Chicago is just... well, you've notice the smell."

Efrideet wrinkled her nose, and Skorri shook her head.

"I think I've become nose-blind to it, actually." the Warlock said. "But that place just sucks all the inspiration out of me. Think of the view we could get up here!"

"Yeah; if there wasn't a blizzard trying to knock us off the mountain. Seriously, this guy must _really_ want to be left alone if he lives up here! Can't we just signal his Ghost and be done with it. 'Hey Felwinter-03, could you come down off your death trap mountain for a few moments? We'll spare a cup of tea!'" Efrideet attempted to mimic Saladin's voice and failing. The Iron Lord frowned.

"I do not drink tea."

A loud bang from up above interrupted whatever conversation might have ensued from that as Saladin stepped up onto another rock.

"Fallen!" Skorri alerted them. Efrideet pulled out a hand cannon, and Saladin had a rifle in his hand faster than the eye could blink. Skorri's head was erect, her pulling a fusion rifle from her back. "Looks like we're not the only ones looking to pay Felwinter a visit!"

"Quickly! Climb!" Saladin ordered, scrambling over the rocks and boulders with renewed haste, clumsy in his heavy armor. Skorri followed after him, and Efrideet let out a heavy, expletive sigh.

"Let's go _towards_ the people who are trying to kill us, on a deathtrap mountain with a clumsy Titan and a blizzard and I can't feel my toes damn you Felwinter-03! Your choice of real-estate leaves _so much_ to be desired!" She said to herself before following after her mentors with cat-like grace. She got frustrated when Saladin kept blocking her path.

"Ugh! Titans!" she groaned. He yelped as she grabbed onto his belt, and climbed over him.

"Efrideet!" he exclaimed, yelping as she stepped on his head by accident.

"Sorry, sir; you're just too slow!" she chirped as cheerily as she could when she was freezing cold. Her eyes caught sight of a Fallen up above, and she took aim. The body tumbled down the mountain, and Saladin stopped it with one foot.

"It's the House of Kings!" he announced, yelling over the mounting blizzard. "It would appear they may think this a good tactical point as well!"

"Lord Saladin, Felwinter lives up here all on his own; he doesn't hire anyone! He won't be able to fight these guys all off on his own!" Efrideet yelled back.

"He's a Voidwalker, he'll be able to hold up a while if they make it through the blizzard!" Skorri told them.

"Lady Skorri, have you _looked_ at any pictures of this guy? If he came out into this blizzard, I'd be surprised if he wasn't blown off the mountain!" Efrideet asked. "I didn't think Exo's came that skinny-looking, but dang!"

"Then lets try to get to him before they take this place!" Skorri yelled, blue skin paler than usual because of the biting cold.

With that, the Lords of Iron(and a half) renewed their efforts to climb.

* * *

Meanwhile, Felwinter-03 was completely aware of the oncoming Fallen threat. This wasn't the first time unwanted guests had come knocking at his door. Hiss little cabin up the way from the Vostok Observatory gave him an ideal view of the approaching enemy.

He'd installed a few defenses over the years; turrets that could seek out Fallen signatures. He had little to worry about. He could sit as his window and watch the Skiffs fall, drink a little tea while he was at it. Technically, Exo's didn't _have_ to eat or drink, but he did so anyway; it made him feel more... real. That, and it helped defrost his internal sensors after a day of working in blizzards.

 _I should really add some vanilla to this chamomile._ He thought as one of his turrets downed a Skiff, which went spinning into a place far below. Taking his cup with him, he crouched down near the hearth, and tended the fire a little bit.

* * *

"Efrideet!" Saladin yelled as the Skiff came crashing down. It hit the side of the mountain, and the smaller Hunter cam scrambling back towards them as a small avalanche descended the rocks. Saladin grabbed hold of Skorri, and dug his heels into the snow, bracing himself against the rocks. He reached out for Efrideet as she came closer...

And his hand brushed hers for a fraction of a second as the avalanche hit, sweeping her away. He screamed her name, but it was lost in snow. He couldn't breath, and he could feel Skorri thrashing beside him. The rocks he'd braced himself against held fast, and as the snow stopped moving, he clawed for the surface, for air, his vision starting to go dark.

He took in a sucking gasp for oxygen as his head breached the snow. He used it to scream.

"EFRIDEET!" he called. The blizzard didn't answer. The rocky terrain had been covered with a thick layer of snow and loose rocks. Skorri surfaced beside him, gasping.

"Do you see her?" she panted. "Did you see where she went? Efrideet!"

He extracted himself and his fellow Iron Lord out of the snow, calling out for the missing Hunter as he did so. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he screamed.

"EFRIDEET!" No female voice carried on the wind in response. He took a deep breath to call again, but Skorri stopped him, shivering violently, grabbing his wrists.

"Saladin, stop! You'll cause another avalanche!" she told him. She pulled herself out of the snow again, leaning against her companion for warmth. He put an arm around her shoulder, now shivering himself, and looked around the snowscape desperately.

"Carbon!" he ordered. His ghost materialized in front of him, and he had to catch it before the winds blew it away. "Can you get a tag on her Ghost?"

"I can try, but there might be too much interference because of the storm." Saladin held the little being close to his chest, putting a hand between it and the direction the wind was tying to blow it in as he parted his shell, scanning the area. He directed his eye towards the cliff.

"She's somewhere on the cliff! Saladin, a Ghost can't come out in this kind of a storm; if she dies, he won't have time to revive her, and he'll be kicked out of her armor systems after a while." _If Efrideet dies in this storm, there may be no bringing her back!_ Saladin's shivers escalated with a violent shudder.

The two Iron Lords waded their way towards the cliff. Carefully, he leaned out to look over the side of the cliff. It was shear, with no visible foot or handholds, not that even a Hunter would be able to scale a cliff in this weather.

Well, Perun might, but Efrideet was not Perun. Nor was she crazy enough to attempt it, like Timur might be. Bretomart might have been stubborn enough to try.

"Efrideet!" He called down. There was an outcropping of rock down below, and he thought he could see a limp form in a pile of snow down at the bottom. "Efrideet!"

No voice carried to him, but he thought he saw the snow shift. Or perhaps that was merely a trick of the wind. He turned to Skorri.

"We have to get to Felwinter! He may have a way to get to her!" he told her.

"Saladin, we can't just leave her here!" the battle bard protested. An idea popped into his head.

"Can you use your fire? Warm her up a little? Could you reach her with your fire, Skorri?" Shivering, the Sunsinger crouched at the edge, leaning out a little way, and reached down with one hand. She shuddered, and flames wound their way down her arm, body adopting a goldish glow, fire spreading from her fingertips before dissipating. Her light went out with a violent shiver, and she looked up at Saladin desperately.

"It's too cold, Saladin! My fire, it... it won't work!" he shook his head, and put an arm around her shoulders. Solar light was known to become unstable in too cold conditions. _Felwinter is her only hope now..._

"Hold on, Efrideet! Help _will_ come!" he called down hoping she could hear him. With that, he and Skorri turned, bracing themselves against the storm ahead, and preparing for Fallen resistance. _Please, oh, please do not let the young Lady fall to this storm._

* * *

They were surprised to meet little resistance from the Fallen. A Dreg or Vandal here or there, but everything else seemed to have been deterred by the storm. Skorri, in her thin robes, seemed to be giving in to hypothermia, barely shivering, and walking weakly at Saladin's side. _We certainly picked a good day to visit._ He thought dryly. They were at some kind of observatory, with plenty of cover if the need came for Skorri to be revived. But Efrideet had no such luxury.

 _Felwinter, Felwinter... where would he build his home?_ With so little space to work with, he probably had the smallest halls of any Warlord yet; there weren't many places he'd seen so far were a palace or house could fit. In fact, it was a feat of engineering that Felwinter had built anything on this mountain in the first place. None of the observatory buildings looked lived in...

 _There!_ Across the twin peaks, a bridge swayed in the wind. On the other end of the bridge... was a small cabin of sorts. He could see the warm lights of fire through the windows. He approached the tower the bridge led out of, leading the weakened Skorri along. His armor was thick enough that he wasn't in the same state she was in, and he could only imagine what Efrideet was going through right now.

He jumped slightly when a gun came out of the wall, just above the doors that led to the bridge. _Ah, so it may not have been the weather that deterred the Fallen after all._ Felwinter was clever, a Warlock indeed if he had managed to horde tech like this.

"Please," he told the gun, for there had to be a camera in there somewhere, "we need your help."

Silence, and then...

 ** _"No. I will not be your Sherpa."_** came a terse, mechanical male voice. The gun retracted, and Skorri made a miffed noise.

"We don't want you as a Sherpa. Our companion was thrown off the mountain, we can't get to her. You know the terrain; if you don't help, she _will_ die." he begged. _Please listen, Felwinter!_ Not a whole lot of Warlords were the agreeable sort. Felwinter, who seemed to be very much a recluse, may be no different.

Silence. And more silence. And yet more silence, every second ticking by costing the Iron Lord to-be more and more. And then...

The doors opened with the creaking of gears, revealing a very small Exo in fur-lined robes. His facial plates were a combination of gray and dark gray-blue, and his optics were a rather unique light purple color. They seemed to pierce right through both Iron Lords, and his eyes wandered almost immediately to Skorri.

"Get her inside. I'll help you find your lost companion, but that's it." he told them, robes whipping around in the wind. There were ropes wrapped around his torso, shoulder to waist, with an assortment of climbing gear attached to go along with it.

"Thank you." he told the Exo gratefully, half dragging Skorri across the bridge, which swung dangerously with the wind but did not fail. He reminded himself that Felwinter was a Warlord, potential ally or no, and that this could easily be a trap. _Trap or no, Efrideet will die if he doesn't help._

Felwinter opened the door of his "palace", revealing a shockingly simple design. One almost wouldn't think he was a Warlord, if not for the throne placed in the back of the building, maybe simply for the sake of athstectics; it didn't look well-used. Why would it? He lived so high up, Saladin doubted he got visitors very often, and even then, only the brave few. He'd heard Felwinter had little time for fools, and had little mercy for those who wasted his time or intruded on his home.

There was a warm hearth in the center of the room, with couches on either side, and a rather warm-looking chair near one of them. This chair, unlike the throne, looked like it was frequently sat in. There were pelts hanging from the walls, and thick blankets were folded on the backs of the couches and the chair, and there was a still-steaming cup of tea on a small table next to the chair, likely to have come from the pot that hung over the hearth. A hall to the side most likely led to Felwinter's quarters.

Saladin led the freezing Skorri over to one of the couches, and undid the belt of her robes. Now in her stock armor, he forced her down onto the piece of furniture, all the while enduring mumbled protests about Efrideet and nothing in particular. He threw the wet robes to the ground near the hearth, and looked up to see Felwinter strapping a furry bundle to his back, having first equipped a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. In his free hand, he offered Saladin a similar cloak.

"Show me where you lost her." it was less of a query and more of a command. He threw one of the blankets over Skorri, whole curled in on herself in an attempt to warm up, and pulled the cloak over himself, pulling up the hood. The fur lining tickled his face, but it was so _warm_! He went for the door, and heard Felwinter shut it behind him. Once off of the bridge, he broke into a run, only occasionally stopping to make sure the small Exo was still behind him.

* * *

She wasn't sure what happened exactly. One moment, she was running for Saladin, his hand outstretched. The next, she was being thrown against the rocks. One of the them struck her in the head. Or maybe she was knocked out when she fell? She didn't know.

All Efrideet knew was that when she woke up, it _hurt_ , and it was as _cold_ as Radegast on a monday morning. She shivered, and tried to curl in on herself, but a groan of pain escaped her as agony shot through her whole leg when she moved.

 _Ugh, I must've broke it_ everywhere _!_ She decided. It hurt most near her hip.

"Lady Skorri?" She called out. "Lord Saladin?"

Only the howling cold answered her. She was half-buried in snow. She tried to extract herself from its freezing grips, but the pain in her leg stopped her. She almost called her Ghost out, before realizing that the poor little thing would probably get swept away the moment she came out.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, still laying down, shivering. _Maybe they're still looking for me? Maybe they're getting help?_ Felwinter probably had climbing gear, and the cliff above her didn't look like it could support Saladin's heavy armor, or even Skorri's light frame, either. There weren't any holds that she could see.

 _Please, please let it be they're going for help. Don't let them think me dead..._

* * *

"This is where she fell!" the Titan(Felwinter hadn't caught his name) in ornate armor yelled. Felwinter looked over the edge. There was definitely someone trapped on that outcropping, half-buried in the snow.

He hastily set up his climbing gear, four ropes total. "When I tug twice, pull her up."

With that and no other words, he began to repel down the side of the mountain. The Exo had been doing this for years now; he had no fear of the winds, no matter how much they might try to blow him off-course.

When his feet finally struck ground, he brushed snow off of the fallen Hunter's face to reveal a young woman now sheathed in frost. He took his glove off, and checked for a pulse. Thready, but it was there. He took the bundle off of his back, quickly undoing it. He assembled the thin poles that came with it, and slipped them through the loops on either side of it.

Gingerly, he removed the rest of the snow from the young woman's body, and rolled her onto the makeshift stretcher. He tied the blanket he'd brought over her, to keep her in place, and then went to work with tying the ropes along the poles.

Once she was secure, he tugged on the ropes twice. Slowly, she was hauled up, and Felwinter waited patiently for the ropes to be thrown back down to him. Now came his test. The Titan would either help him, or leave him to the storm, and Felwinter would _really_ know where his intentions lay. He waited a long time, in which he felt his plates beginning to ice over, and he rolled his shoulders, hands still held behind his back, still waiting.

A rope, weighted with a rock to keep it on it's track downwards, nearly fell directly on his head, unraveling before him. Felwinter-03 let a small Exo smile creep onto his face for a small instant. _Very well, then. So_ that's _who you are..._

He grabbed the rope and climbed.

* * *

Back in Felwinter's shelter, Saladin watched as Efrideet slept on peacefully, covered in a mound of blankets. Color had returned to her face somewhat, and her breathing was a little stronger. Skorri was deeply restful as well. He longed to join them, to crawl under a blanket before the hearth and let himself drift to slumber. But there was still a Warlord to deal with, and though he had helped them, the Titan did not fully trust the Exo.

He stood watching the dark-skinned Human, hands folded behind his back, observing him, measuring him like a scientist would a test subject, or a hunter would potentially dangerous prey. He'd stripped down to some lighter robes, and Saladin had removed his upper armor and the heavy plating on his legs, now standing before his goal with a black T-shirt on his back, and the warm fire's heat on his skin.

"You're with the Iron Lords, aren't you?" Felwinter asked, breaking the silence. He didn't sound upset, or surprised, or angry. Maybe a little bit curious, maybe a little bit apprehensive.

"Yes." Saladin told him. "And if you've heard of us, you'll know what we're here for."

"Indeed." The Exo nodded, and walked away, back turned to him and the others, to stand in front of one of the windows, looking out into the storm ravaging his home. "I have to say, I'm surprised I caught your attention. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I like to keep to myself."

"You haven't been causing us or anyone else that much trouble." Saladin assured him. "We would like to call you an ally, but seeing as you've done no harm to the people of your region, we see no reason to harm you if you refuse."

"Your main concern isn't me, but the position in which I live." Felwinter stated, matter of factly, turning his head look him in the eyes, causing the black man to look away in slightly embarrassed acknowledgement.

"True, that is part of it. But we've heard of your talents with the void as well. You would make a great ally in our fight." Felwinter rarely descended from the peak on which he lived. When he did, it was to kill Fallen. He rarely interacted directly with the people in his territory, though there were many(simply because he was the one Warlord in the area who didn't really harass anyone), but he always made sure to send a rather violent message to hostile trespassers.

Like the corpse of a rival Warlord the trio of Iron Lords had found at the base of his mountain. The message was quite clear; 'you cross me, you die.' They'd talked to some of the few locals that had seen him fight, and they said he fought like a maniac, like a wild animal gone mad, with the void. He'd once left the half-melted corpse of a Baron at the edge of the town, and periodically dragged the body around the perimeter over the course of several days.

"It stank up the whole damn place." one villager had said. "But he said the smell of it would warn the Fallen off for a good while. Boy was he right; we didn't see the four-armed suckers for months afterwards. They returned, and he killed another big one, did the same thing as before. Cept', he left all the bodies of the crew at the edge of the village that time. Complaints got so bad, we tried to pay him in a new set of fine leather robes in exchange he burned the corpses or get rid of him. He said no, continued with what he was doing. The place still smells a little, but the Fallen stay clear. He said, 'protection is worth a few bad smells'."

"I would... have to have some time to consider it." the Exo said thoughtfully, looking back out into the storm. "I take it you would want the throne removed?"

"Yes." the Iron Lord replied. A throne, no matter how little used, had no place in a sanctuary of the Iron Lords. "That would be preferred. As for expanding this place... Lord Silimar will find the task entertaining. The boy will finally have something to do."

Felwinter nodded with a thoughtful hum. "How far would you expand this house? Should I agree to join you, I would suggest digging into the side of the mountain, perhaps using some of the old Observatory facilities as a place of residence. I haven't had need of them, but perhaps you'll want to expand upon them as your population grows."

"Huh." Saladin gave a wry chuckle. "We don't get people joining that quickly. I doubt expansions will be necessary for some time."

"Longevity is nothing new to us Exos, but those of you organic chosen can now live possibly for centuries without aging." he replied with a hint of amusement. "I find it difficult to believe that your Iron Lords will remain together for so long and not have certain pairs tying the knot eventually. I find it very difficult to believe there is not a place in your group's future for children."

Saladin felt his face heat up, and not because of the fire, as the image of a certain reckless she-Titan crossed through his mind.

"Perhaps." he murmured. It was entirely possible that they would one day have to support children. There were a few couples among the Iron Lords, a few rings on fingers, but nobody had tried for children yet. The Old Chicago base was no place to raise a kid, and everybody knew that. That, coupled with the fact their numbers were too low to have any of the Ladies down pregnant at the moment; they needed all hands on deck until they had more people on their side. Maybe, if Felwinter joined them, one or two little ones could be born in the more isolated, somewhat safer mountain base to help increase that number, but that was a risk to be taken up for a later date.

"Sleep. I assure you, I have no intentions of ending your life while you rest." The Warlock told him, turning and walking down the hall and out of view. Saladin sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, shutting his eyes. _By the Light, what a day._

With that, he found a blanket, curled up on the floor between the hearth and Skorri's couch, and fell asleep watching the flames, wondering if the Exo would stay true to his word, wondering if Warlord Felwinter would become Iron Lord Felwinter, wondering what tomorrow might actually hold.

* * *

 **You know, this was actually the first piece I started writing for this series. Originally, it was going to be an individual one-shot, but the people had spoken, and they wanted more Iron Lords. So, I started writing about the Iron Lords. Up until this point, this one-shot has sat half-finished on my flash drive, and I finally decided to dust it off and complete it.**

 **Not sure where I want to go with the next one. I'm long overdue to return to the Gheleon side plot, but part of me really wants to write a little bit about the transfer from Old Chicago to Felwinter Peak as well. Might be a while until the next update while I hammer that out with my brain.**

 **I'm glad to have gotten such a reaction from the forklift chapter, LoL, and Broken, you are very much welcome to the fluff.**

 **I'm also very glad I managed to get our favorite Sherpa out here finally as well.**

 **And without further ado, read and REVIEW!**


	10. The Firstborn

A screech of agony pierced the air.

Felwinter's mountain had been home to the Iron Lords for several years now, quarters and armories and many other rooms made by digging further into the mountains, or by re-purposing rooms of the observatory. An ecstatic Silimar had drawn up plans and started construction of a large base building on the side of the bridge Felwinter's cabin was on.

The base in Old Chicago(or rather, Old Chicag-NO, as Timur now called it) had been abandoned as a monument to the Iron Lord's beginnings, and now that they lived somewhere high up and safe, some of the group had started to lay down roots.

Today... they welcomed a new Iron Lord to the world.

"COLOVANCE! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME!" the coherent words faded back into pained screeching.

"I know! I know, I still love you, Bret, I love you with all my heart!" The Warlock insisted, insane with joy and panic as he massaged his wife's shoulders meticulously while she endured. Her hair was matted with sweat, her skin glistened with the stuff, and her face was red and wet with tears. Ashraven stood at her side, one hand resting on the Titan's abdomen with solar Light pulsing from her skin to try and ease the pain of the process, while Weyloran ran to the door and yelled at Timur again.

"HURRY UP WITH THAT WATER ALREADY!" he yelled at a volume to rival that of the birthing woman's.

Meanwhile, Timur's _head_ was in a frenzy. Get _the water Timur! Wait no, too cold; but what if it's too warm?_ _Wrong water! Wait, if that's the wrong water, which one is the right one? WHAT DEFINING QUALITIES SEPARATE THESE TWO KINDS OF WATER!?_

"Timur, CHILL, take the water, and _go_!" Deidris slapped him in the face. He'd said it all out loud. A higher pitch of agony swept through the air.

"I'M RUNNING!" the Warlock dashed for the room Bretomart was birthing in, feet nearly tripping over each other, hands nearly shaking so violently, he almost dropped the water. Was this what a responsible uncle looked like? Probably not.

He burst into the room. "I'M HERE! I GOT IT!"

He somehow managed to yell louder than the infant that was now wailing as Ashraven bundled the small being into a blanket, casting her fellow Warlock a withering look.

"Too late." she said. Bretomart looked exhausted, face read and wet with sweat and tears, but there was undeniable joy in her gaze as well. Colovance was swaying slightly, looking giddy.

"Huh. Hehe..." Timur caught a glimpse of the blood, and fell to the floor in a dead faint, dropping the water as he hit the concrete face-first.

"My hero." Bretomart rasped sarcastically as Weyloran marched into the room with a bottle of cold water, stepping over Timur's unconscious form.

"Are we doing anything about that?" he asked, pointing down at the other Iron Lord.

"Nah, we're too busy. Just leave him, Haakon and Efrideet can tease him about it later." Colovance waved one hand casually, while watching Ashraven intensely. The Warlock approached, passing the child to Bretomart. The Titaness smiled down at her daughter. Nine months of a fretty, over-protective team had finally payed off.

"Hi, Finnala." she whispered.

"She's a beautiful child, Bretomart. No deformities that I can see, and perfectly healthy to boot." Ashraven told her.

"Does she have Light?" Colovance asked, not looking away from the child.

"It's a bit too early to tell, we're not even sure if it's hereditary. I'm interested to see if it is, and if she is able to control the Light..." Weyloran said. "Well, remember Efrideet? She was barely even sixteen when she met her ghost. We don't want to introduce Finnala to her Ghost when she's too young, or she'll stop ageing. Efrideet got lucky in that she was tall for her age."

"We'll keep that in mind, but nothing's killing our daughter. Not if we can help it, not for a very long time." Colovance told him. Using one hand, he stroked Finnala's head gently, a thrill of excitement passing through him. This was it. This was him, being a father at last.

It was the best feeling in the world.

* * *

 ***ahem***

 **Just go ahead and pretend it hasn't been over three months since my last update... I got distracted by Mass Effect.**

 **So, nobody had anything to say about Felwinter? Dang, that's cold(pun totally intended).**

 **Anyway,**

 **Read and REVIEW!**


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